Texting With the Enemy (Digital Dating #1) - Marika Ray Page 0,33

of Romeo and Juliet, right?” Mom asked me, though she knew very well why.

“Yes,” I bit out.

“Okay,” El’s mother said, grinning. “Now we will need the story.”

“Tell us,” El encouraged.

I dropped an elbow to the counter and put a hand over my face. I was not telling this story. But Mom launched right into it.

“Well, the boys all went to an all-boys school for junior high,” she began. “And the drama teacher was putting on a production of Romeo and Juliet. Only, as you can imagine, there were not a lot of options for Juliets at an all-boys school. So they held a lottery among all the kids in drama class, and Boston won.”

“Lost,” I corrected.

“You were Juliet?” El said, not quite stifling a laugh.

“And Lincoln was Romeo,” Mom went on. “And it was the funniest thing you ever saw. Especially the kiss at the end. Oh, we laughed for weeks.”

“Some of us did not laugh,” I told her. “They called me Jules at school for the rest of eighth grade. And sometimes in high school.”

“Oh no,” El said, trying not to laugh.

“And he internalized that embarrassment,” Mom said. “Has never been able to get on stage again.” She nodded seriously to her listeners. “Remember that time in college, honey? When you were supposed to present your final project for that business class?”

“I remember,” I ground out. When had the night turned into a parade of my worst memories? “I couldn't do it. And I took an F on the project instead of even trying,” I told them all. I turned to Mom. “Can we let it go now?”

“Yes,” she said, patting my arm. “Let’s not ruin a wonderful night.”

I cleared my throat and tried to put the bad memories behind me.

“It was a great night,” Robin proclaimed.

“It was,” I agreed, and turned to El, who was wiping down the tasting counter. “You were amazing.”

She stopped moving and met my eyes, and for a brief moment, the rest of the room faded away. “Thanks to you,” she said softly.

The moment was broken by El’s mother breaking into a chant from where she still perched on the stool, “kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!”

El’s face turned bright red, but the moment was thankfully interrupted by an enormous pig stepping into the tasting room and planting its hands dramatically on its hips. “Where can a hog get a glass of wine around here?” It demanded.

“Come here, Dalton,” Mom called, opening her arms wide and pulling my brother into a hilarious hug as his huge pig head leaned over her shoulder.

Lincoln switched the tasteful calm music that had been playing to classic rock, and El’s mother slid off her stool and began gyrating in a way that I imagined would have embarrassed most ladies of the night.

Soon we all had a glass of wine in our hands, and we danced and laughed, and talked about the success of the day. It wasn’t a planned party, but it was perfect—an acknowledgement of my mom’s next step. She’d lost her partner, the love of her life, and her best friend, but she was moving forward anyway, and I knew my dad would have been proud.

El and her mother were great fun, both laughing and chatting with my brothers and my mother, and my heart had been swelling almost painfully inside me all day just being close to her. El was full of life and love, and I knew I was already a goner.

I excused myself to go pull another bottle of pinot from the back for El’s mother to take home with her, and turned, surprised to find El standing behind me in the relative quiet and darkness of the winery storage room.

“Hey,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes.

“Hey,” I managed to return despite the sudden thundering of my blood through my veins.

“Thanks for everything today. It was amazing. That was the best time I’ve had at work . . . well, ever.” She glanced shyly at me and then looked down again.

My hand moved before my brain caught up, tilting her chin back up so she could meet my gaze. “You were amazing,” I told her honestly. “And I need to tell you that I realize I was wrong.”

“Wrong?” She suddenly looked worried. “About what? Not me working here?”

“No, no. About you working in sales. You’re a natural, El.”

I watched the pride color her cheeks as the smile grew across her perfect lips. “Yeah?”

“It’s your personality,” I went on, my voice low, almost a whisper.